Chapter 129 A Century Under the Nine Heads

Since we are talking about the little things we have lived in the little Piccubus monastery, and we have dared to open a window of the forbidden palace, the reader will allow us to add a small incident and describe a story that is not the same as this one. This story has nothing to do with the actual book. This story not only has its special features, but also helps us understand some strange phenomena of that monastery. In that little courtyard there was a centenarian from Fontevero Abbey.Before the revolution, she was still a man of the world.She often spoke of Monsieur Miromenier, keeper of the seal of Louis XVI, and of a Madame Deborah, whom she knew well.Because of her hobby and vanity, no matter what she talked about, she always mentioned those two names.She used to talk about the monastery of Trevor, saying that it was like a city, with many streets in the monastery.

The boarders were particularly pleased by her conversation, in a Picardian manner.She would solemnly make a vow once a year, and when she made the vow, she always said to the priest: "My lord St. Francis made this vow to my lord St. Julien, and my lord St. Julien made this vow to my lord St. Euseber." , Monsieur St. Euseber made this vow to Monsieur St. Procopa," and so on, "so I also make this vow to you, my priest." The boarders all giggled when they heard this, no? Laughing not under the hood, but under the veil, such a lovely suppressed smile that made the Sisters frown.

Another time, the centenarian told a story, "In her youth Friar Bernard refused to give in to the musketeers."That's a century talking, but this is the eighteenth century.She described the custom of offering four courses of champagne and Burgundy.Before the revolution, if a great man, a marshal of France, a prince, a duke, or a minister of the world, passed through a city in Burgundy or Champagne, the civil and military officials of the city would come to greet him and use four silver cups, Offer him four different wines.The word "monkey wine" is engraved on the first cup, "lion wine" on the second, "sheep wine" on the third, and "pig wine" on the fourth.Those four inscriptions mark the four stages of a person's drunkenness: the first stage is active, the second is irritated, the third is dull, and finally, befuddled.

She has a very favorite thing, which is always locked in a cabinet and kept secret.The rules of Fontevero's House did not forbid her to do so.She never showed that thing to anyone.She was locked in the house alone, which was allowed by her courtyard rules, secretly admiring that thing.If she heard someone walking in the aisle, those dry hands would hastily lock the cabinet door.When people talked about it to her, she immediately shut up, although she usually loves talking.The most curious people are helpless in the face of her silence, and the most stubborn people are helpless in the face of her stubbornness.This became the subject of painstaking discussion by all the idlers in the monastery.What kind of treasure is that treasure that the centenarian cherishes and hides so much?This is undoubtedly a bible?Some kind of unique rosary?Some sort of verified relic?All kinds of guesses can't break the boring gourd.After the poor old woman died, they all ran to the cabinet--perhaps they shouldn't have run so fast--and opened the door.The thing was found, wrapped in three layers of cloth as if protecting a blessed offering plate.It was a plate from a Faenza kiln, and it showed a group of apothecary boys chasing a group of flying cupids with huge syringes in their hands.The looks and gestures of the chase are different, but they all make people laugh.One of those petite and lovely Cupids had already been punctured with a syringe.It was still struggling, flapping its wings to fly away, but the funny clown looked at it and laughed evilly.The implication is that love has succumbed to pain.That plate, indeed a rarity, which perhaps had the honor of triggering Molière's Evans, was still in existence in 1845, on sale in an antiques shop on the Boulevard Beaumarchais.

The kindly old lady never received friends and relatives from outside, "because," she said, "the reception room is too gloomy."